


In Loving Memory

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [11]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:47:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Mother's Day, and Dean intends to spend it like he does every year... drinking himself unconscious. Castiel's not going to let him off that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Loving Memory

**Author's Note:**

> It's not as macabre as the title would imply, I promise! It's shorter than the rest because it was a last minute decision to write it. (Thanks to Ashley for the inspiration). I wanted it to be like 2k but of course I have no self restraint...

Dean walks out of the kitchen and shuts his cell phone with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a huff of air. Cas looks up from the book he’s reading – The Vintner’s Luck, apparently it’s quite good – and eyes Dean curiously.

“Dean?”

“Sammy wants to go visit _Mom’s grave_ for Mother’s day,” Dean replies, scoffing. “Morbid little weirdo, man. He already got us tickets to Lawrence – like he seriously thought I was going to go.” Dean shakes his head.

Cas gives him a sideways glance.

“I think it’s a good idea, Dean,” Cas says quietly after a moment. Dean looks incredulous – then, pissed.

“Uh – sorry, _what_ did you just say?”

Cas frowns.

“It would be good for you, Dean. You lived your whole life fighting to find her killer, and the apocalypse followed closely after. You haven’t had time to heal. Perhaps – “

“Perhaps, nothing. Do you know what I’m going to do on Sunday? The same thing I do every Mother’s Day – go out and get drunk as hell. And, y’know, have distraction sex all day,” he adds, winking at Cas and sitting on the couch beside him. He flashes a grin he hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels. Cas’ expression is clearly unhappy.

“I don’t like when you treat your problems with alcohol, Dean,” he says seriously.

Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of Cas’ neck – Cas’ weak spot, he knows. He nips at the skin there lightly, dragging his tongue over it and smiling.

“Hmm, that so? Maybe I can settle for the sex, then,” he says, eager to distract Cas from his argument. Cas tenses and Dean thinks, for a moment, that he’s won the fight. No such luck. Cas closes his book and glares at Dean.

“You’re repressing. It’s unhealthy,” Cas says blankly, inching out of Dean’s reach and crossing his arms. Dean’s pissed again, and he glares at Cas in a fiery sort of way that he hasn’t used in a while.

“How would you know, anyway?” Dean says, and he stands from the couch and heads for the coat closet. A part of him knows he’s being a dick, that he’s overreacting… but this is _Mom_ they’re talking about, and Sam and Cas are trying to dredge up memories Dean’s long since buried. Of course it’s not Dean’s fault he’s defensive, that he’s acting slightly over the top. “It’s not exactly like you’ve got a mother. It’s kind of a _human_ thing.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Dean realizes he’s crossed a line… but he doesn’t feel like taking it back, either.

Cas flinches like he’s been hit, eyes widening before they narrow into a glare like daggers that might have terrified Dean if he wasn’t so damn pissed. Dean pulls his jacket from the closet and tugs it on.

“Where are you going?” Cas demands.

“Out.”

“Where?”

“ _Out,”_ Dean repeats, more sharply than intended. Cas stares at him in that intense way of his, as though he’s staring right through Dean’s flesh and into his soul or something. Dean breaks eye contact because he’s pretty sure that look could make him feel really guilty, really fast.

… But Dean is obviously _right_ and there’s nothing to feel guilty about. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“If you happen to _repress_ to the point where you can’t drive home, call me,” Cas hisses just as Dean closes the door. Dean stands in front of the closed door under the glow of their porch light for a moment, annoyed that Cas had to go and show Dean that he cares, even as he’s insulting him.

*

Dean wakes up the following morning in a fog. When he’s conscious enough to realize it, he knows something is very wrong – the kitchen doesn’t smell like breakfast or coffee. Furthermore, he’s on the couch and not on the bed with Cas, who is sitting there, cross-legged, and has his nose in a book as usual. Dean’s head is killing him and – which is also weird – there’s no aspirin in reach.

Basically, Cas is not acting like he usually does when he suspects Dean will be hung over.

“Cas?” Dean grumbles, sitting up. Cas only looks up from his book for a moment, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll drive you somewhere to eat if your delicate head is hurting too much to do it yourself,” Cas says tersely. “But brush your teach first, your mouth likely smells like a brewery.”

This is a lot of information for Dean’s admittedly throbbing head, and he leans back against the couch for a minute, closing his eyes and squeezing his temples with his forefingers. He tries to remember last night, but he’s finding it hazy and difficult.

“Gotta pick up the Impala,” he says groggily after a moment, vaguely remembering having taken a cab home. Apparently he _had_ gotten too drunk to drive, but was, typically, too proud to call Cas and had managed to navigate a phonebook on his own.

“Done,” Cas says curtly.

Dean opens his eyes.

“You walked there?”

“It’s not far.”

They’re both silent a moment and Dean thinks that Cas might have gone back to his reading.

“What time did I come home?” Dean asks, finally breaking the silence.

“12:47am,” Cas says. Dean finds it weird that Cas knows the exact minute… but then, it’s Cas, so it’s not really that weird at all.

“What time did I leave?”

“9:30.”

“Shit.”

Well, that would explain why Cas is pissed.

Dean hasn’t gone out drinking like this since well before Christmas – before he realized how he felt about Cas and decided that he wanted to hold onto something good in his life, for once. It’s not that his ghosts went away, per se, but rather he’s had something else to focus on. A warm, positive little ball of light in his life that made everything haunting him take back burner. He hasn’t _needed_ to drink.

“Why don’t we go to a diner?” Dean asks, hoping that Cas might just let this go and Dean can smooth it over.

“I can drop you off at a diner, if you wish.”

Dean sighs. He’s not going to get off easy, it seems.

“Listen, Cas – “

Cas clears his throat… and there’s something in it, some weird undercurrent Dean picks up on because he knows Cas inside and out. It puts him on alert.

“Dean, please be forward with me. Did you go home with anyone last night?”

Dean stares at Cas dubiously, trying to process what he’s just been asked.

“What?”

Cas sighs and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes, despite how intently Dean is trying to look into his.

“If you cheated on me, I’d like to know. It’s not an impassable roadblock, but…”

Dean stares at Cas like he’s grown another head.

“What? Whoa, whoa, easy, Sunshine. I would never – “

“There was blonde hair on your coat when you came home. You didn’t smell like you.” Cas doesn’t look angry; he looks weary. More tired than Dean has seen him in a while. Dean feels all sorts of feelings tugging at his heart and he hates all of them. He wonders whether the wave of nausea in his stomach is from all the alcohol he drank last night or something else.

Dean wishes to God he could remember last night. For all his blankness, though, he knows that no way under the sun could he cheat on Cas. Cas is too important to fuck up over a one night stand.

“I did not mean to push you too hard, Dean,” Cas is saying suddenly, “I – Sam and I… I fought my way through hell for you, slayed legions of demons for you. I just wanted to help you fight your own demons.  Dean, I,” and Dean can hear Cas choking slightly, almost inaudibly, on the words. It breaks Dean’s friggin heart. “I love you.  I apologize. Please do not sleep with anyone else.”

Dean’s off the couch and crawling into bed beside Cas in half a second, even despite the protests from his ailing head. He kisses Cas and kisses him again, then kisses his forehead and nose. He pulls back a bit so he can look in Cas’ eyes.

“I love you, too,” Dean whispers, pressing his forehead against Cas’. “I didn’t sleep with anyone, Cas, Jesus. Don’t you know…” Dean shakes his head slightly because he sucks at the whole feelings thing, particularly articulating them. “Don’t you know you’re all I need, man? Shit, Cas, I’ve never been this happy before. Like. Ever.” This has surged so deep into chick flick land that Dean feels like he may possibly be betraying his manhood. He swallows this feeling, though, because the look in Cas’ eyes catches him off guard.

“Oh,” Cas replies flatly, like all the fight’s been drained from him.

They’re quiet a moment, just looking at each other.

“What about the blonde hair? And perfume?” Cas asks, but there’s no accusation in his tone. He only sounds curious, now.

Dean glances at his jacket, which is draped over the back of the couch where he apparently left it last night. Then his eyes travel to the floor beside the couch and his face lights up with understanding.

“Oh, shit! Duh. Christ, okay.” Dean scrambles off the bed and over to the couch. There’s a shopping bag beside it and he grabs it and quickly climbs into bed with Cas again.

“I don’t remember the majority of last night – okay, that sounds bad, sorry – but I remember this, now. I think. I was taking a cab home and saw this in the window of a department store and I thought of you. And they were having some sort of late night special or whatever, I don’t remember, but they were open and I told the cabbie to wait. And I think I pissed off a few people? Probably. And the chick that helped me pick it for you was kinda touchy-feely if you get what I mean, and she was blonde, so that’d be it. And the perfume is probably from that part of the department store where they try to sell you scented shit for girlfriends. I was pretty drunk, man.”

Cas glances at the bag.

“What is it?”

“… I honestly don’t fucking remember.”

Cas heaves a longsuffering sigh and opens the bag. His face lights up when he sees what’s inside – even though Dean knows the guy’s struggling to keep from looking too happy because he doesn’t want Dean to get off that easy. Dean’s sure he should be ashamed at stooping to bribery, but if there’s one thing Cas likes, it’s sweaters.

Cas has been pretty bummed lately that the weather’s simply too warm for all his dorky, awful sweaters. Since early May hit, even the angel had to concede that the time for knit and wool things had past. He’s got an array of t-shirts, now, and a few light jackets, but Dean catches him sometimes looking a little wistfully at all his ugly sweaters when he sees them in the drawer.

So, Dean’s decided that can at least have cardigans. He’s pretty sure they’re like, similar enough or whatever. Same general idea. Even when he was stupid drunk last night, the display window showing off a new line of completely atrocious cardigans had reminded Dean of Cas. They bear similar patterns to the thick ones Cas is has become so fond of, but are made of a lightweight material with a nice v cut, perfect for warmer weather. The design is busy and the colors are weird, but he can tell that Cas loves it so it’s worth the eyesore.

“You like it?” Dean asks after Cas has inspected it.

“Of course,” Cas says, like the question confuses him. “I love it, Dean.”

Dean grins.

“So, truce?” Dean asks, ruffling Cas’ hair. Cas’ expression is suddenly less cheerful.

“No,” he says flatly.

“What? What the hell, Cas?”

“You came home at one in the morning, Dean. I was… worried about you.” He says the last part like he’s embarrassed of it or something. Dean’s reminded of all the times he’s been worried about Sam, how relieved and equally pissed he’d been when he figured out whatever happened each time. He gets why Cas is pissed.

“I said I was sorry,” Dean says in a pouty voice, flashing his sweetest smile at Cas, puckering his lip oh-so-slightly. Cas is unfazed.

“I am not swayed by bribery, Dean. I love the sweater, but I’m angry at you.”

“Well, shit,” Dean says, “What can I do? Are you, like, ever going to forgive me?”

“Yes. But I have conditions.”

Dean groans.

“Number one – you agree to _never do that again_. Either bring me, if you must, and I’ll drive you home, or just don’t get piss drunk in the middle of the night.”

“Done,” Dean says immediately, because he has no intentions of doing that again. He didn’t like the way Cas looked at him earlier, like he was afraid everything was going to fall apart or something. Like he was afraid of losing this, what they have together. Dean hates that he was responsible for that look.

Cas looks wary, but he plows on. “Two – you make me breakfast.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean whines. “I’m the hungover  one here.”

Cas shrugs. “That is your own fault. The only thing you are better at making than me is French toast. I’d like that.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbles, because he’s not exactly in the position to be complaining.

“Three – I’d like to sleep with you, right now.”

Dean swallows.

“I am _so_ okay with that, man,” Dean says, biting his lip subconsciously. He thinks it’s kinda funny that Cas says it all formal like that, every time. Dean just says ‘fuck’, like he always has, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind his lack of tact.

“I’m angry with you. I’m going to be rough and you’re not going to complain,” Cas growls.

And – yeah, okay, Cas is typically kinda gentle when he tops for whatever reason, which is cool with Dean because (and he’d never, ever, admit it, ever), he’s a little afraid of going at it too hard when he’s not entirely in control. Cas doesn’t mind what pace they’re at no matter _who_ tops, but they’ve got an unspoken agreement that Cas doesn’t slam into him so hard he feels it the following day. It’s part of that weird symbiotic relationship they’ve got going on, the whole thing where they don’t always need to speak to understand what the other wants.

Dean swallows again, because this is a big step… but he also realizes right away that he’s willing to take it. He’s almost looking forward to it.

“Fine,” he says quickly, and Cas looks taken aback, like he’d been expecting Dean to protest.

“Lastly, we’re celebrating Mother’s Day.”

“C’mon, Cas – “ Dean starts to protest because, _seriously_ , are they really back to this subject? Cas puts a finger to Dean’s lips before he can say anything else, though.

“It does not have to be Sam’s idea. You may choose. Even if it’s very small, Dean. We could eat dinner in her honor or plant a flower outside for her. It is your decision.”

Dean is quiet, picking at loose threads in the couch, mulling this over.

“Your mother was a remarkable woman, Dean. Her memory should be celebrated. I don’t want it to cause you pain every year.”

Dean heaves a heavy, heavy sigh, and looks up and meets Cas’ eyes.

“Okay,” is all his says.

“Okay?” Cas repeats, incredulous. It’s obvious he’d been expecting Dean to fight the idea til it died. Cas smiles.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“I think you mentioned something about sex?” Dean says, skirting over whatever Cas is trying to articulate. Cas rolls his eyes… but then, before Dean is even properly prepared, he’s kissing Dean, crawling into his lap and licking into his mouth, biting at his lips and tugging at Dean’s shirt.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dean breathes, and Cas just chuckles against his mouth and pulls his boyfriend’s shirt off completely.

*

Cas ends up making the French toast. Dean claims he can barely sit, let alone _cook_ and Cas doesn’t even argue. In fact, as he serves them both and pours Dean coffee, he’s got this smug little self-satisfied grin on his face that he seems to be trying valiantly to fight. He’s humming under his breath as he pours his own tea, and Dean thinks the tune might be ‘Hey, Jude.’

Dean knows he’s smiling a little stupidly, too, though he’s trying just as hard as Cas not to look all cheesy about it.

Cas puts their food in front of them at the table and sits beside Dean. He puts an elbow on the table and cradles his chin in his palm, looking at Dean with an entirely pleased expression. Cas’ hair is a mess and so is Dean’s. Clearly sex hair on both counts.

Dean slumps back in his seat and groans.

“Jesus, Cas,” he says, “I’m going to be feeling this all goddamn week.” Dean isn’t even sure if this is an exaggeration.

“It was good?” Cas asks, eyeing Dean warily, even a little self-consciously.

Dean laughs.

“Are you kidding? That was fucking awesome, man. We should have makeup sex more often.” Dean is not sure this is actually a true statement. One the one hand – _shit,_ Dean is having a little trouble believing that Cas was a virgin a couple weeks ago. Or maybe the whole ‘being in love’ thing just makes him feel like his boyfriend is a sex god or something. On the other hand, this is the kind of intense fucking you can only handle every so often.

Cas laces his fingers with Dean’s and kisses his knuckles before letting go. “Thank you.”

“You gonna stop staring at me all dreamy so I can eat?” Dean asks, though his smirk betrays him. Cas shakes his head.

“I enjoy the way you look after sex,” Cas says casually as he pours syrup over his breakfast.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sunshine,” Dean says with a wink. Cas is wearing one of his t-shirts and Dean’s practically drooling over the sight of it.

“Speaking of,” Cas says, “the rabbit needs food, she’s running out.”

Dean groans again.

“There’s no way you’re getting me out of the house in this condition.”

“Dean.”

“I’m _injured_ ,” Dean whines.

“No, Dean, you’re just well bedded.”

“I can’t walk.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“ _Cas_.”

Cas sighs.

“We’ll go later. She has enough for right now.”

Dean feels very proud that his whining actually succeeded, for once. Dean blames it on the afterglow.

*

“I think we have a case,” Dean says a couple hours later, and he turns his laptop around so that Cas can see the news article he’s looking at. Cas puts down his book and peers over, eyes quickly scanning the page.

“I agree,” Cas says after a moment, nodding his head. “Good eye, Dean. Succubi are difficult to spot.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Give me some credit, man. I’ve been hunting since before I could form complete sentences.”

“True. It should be a fairly easy hunt, yes?”

“Yeah. They’re like demons without the human host, which means she can be ganked quick and easy. I think there’s a spell that skewers em up barbecue style.”

“You realize that if she uses her charm on either of us, her effects will not wear off for quite some time?” Dean is fully aware of this. Succubi are nasty sons of bitches. They use sex as a weapon – if one touches a person, he’s got libido worse than a teenage boy for hours and he’s too distracted to keep the thing from sucking out all his energy. Telltale sign of a succubus in an area is a bunch of dudes turning up dead with boners.

“Of course I do. You ready for potential marathon sex if she gets one of us?” Dean grins, winking at Cas.

“I am not opposed to the idea.”

“C’mon, it’s in North Jersey. If we leave now, we can beat traffic and be there in an hour and a half.” Dean stands up and goes to get their jackets.

“Dean?” Cas asks as Dean tosses him his own jacket.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Mother’s Day is in two days. Have you chosen something, yet?” He seems worried, like Dean’s forgot.

Dean has not forgotten.

“Workin on it, Cas. Can we talk about this when we save those poor bastards out there being killed through their dicks?”

Cas wrinkles his nose.

“You’re crude, Dean.”

“You love me for it.”

“I do,” Cas agrees, and catches Dean’s lips with his own on his way out the door. “But we _will_ talk about this. You promised, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says dismissively. Cas stands in the doorway and pouts and Dean makes a mental note to kick Sam’s ass because he’s pretty sure he taught the former-angel that look. Dean sighs.

“I _will_ , okay? Scout’s honor. Geez.”

*

The succubus does _not_ end up touching neither Dean nor Cas, which turns out to be a good thing because they’re both exhausted by the time they get home. Dean strips to his boxers the second he gets through the door and flops face first into the bed. Cas takes a moment to light a few of his favorite candles and turn off the light before he undresses, puts on pajamas and crawls into bed beside Dean.

Dean curls up next to Cas and pulls him close, entwining their legs and tucking his head under Cas’ chin. He feels safe and warm, like he always does when Cas is beside him. He remembers a time when he _never_ felt safe, when the whole goddamn world was out to get him and his little brother. That time feels like a long, long time ago.

Dean is okay, now. More than okay.

“ ‘m gonna do it, Cas,” Dean whispers, kissing Cas’ throat softly.

“Hm?” Cas asks sleepily.

“I’m gonna do it. Go to mom’s grave on Sunday.”

This catches Cas’ attention.

“Are you sure, Dean?” he asks carefully, quietly. Dean nods.

“You were right. Mom’s ‘portant.” Dean yawns, losing track of what he’s saying. “She’d be sad, if she knew I act like Dad every Mother’s Day. Gotta go see her.”

“I’m proud of you, Dean.” Cas tilts his head so he can kiss Dean. Dean closes his eyes and smiles into it, enjoying the feel of Cas’ scruff against his face.

“Plus, you’re a holiday junkie. Can’t deprive my boyfriend.”

Cas chuckles.

“I love you very much, Dean.”

“Love you too, Cas. Let’s go to sleep.”

*

Cas packs a picnic lunch for a graveyard.

It’s Dean’s idea, actually, and it’s more than a little weird… but it seems kind of fitting, and Cas doesn’t mention it. Sam doesn’t even make fun of him for the idea, either. Dean gets the feeling that they’re both just grateful Dean agreed to go. Neither of them wants to risk making him change his mind.

What’s worse than, y’know, facing his inner demons and man pain or whatever the hell else he’s going to be doing today, Dean has to ride on a _plane_. He’d sort of forgotten that in the midst of his sleepy sentiments Friday night. Now it’s Sunday morning and Dean is slightly panicked.

“We can’t just drive?” Dean asks the tiniest bit frantically. Sam’s sitting in his kitchen with Cas and they’re both drinking tea. It’s ridiculously early in the morning and Dean’s still in his boxers. Sam’s wearing a goddamn _suit_ and Cas keeps fighting with his blue tie. So far, he has it on backwards and it keeps coming loose.

“No, Dean,” Sam says, at least having the decency to sound sympathetic, “not if we want to get there, y’know, _today_.”

“C’mere, Cas,” Dean grumbles, crossing the kitchen and straightening Cas’ tie for him. Sam snorts.

“Married,” he says in a singsong voice.

“Dude, no,” Dean says, dropping his hands quickly once Cas’ tie is fixed. Cas tilts his head in confusion.

“Dude, yes. So friggin married.”

“Married couples don’t fuck as much as we do, Sammy.”

“God! Dean! Not a mental image I wanted!”

“I think I win.”

“We should get going,” Cas cuts in, “We’re going to miss our flight.”

Dean swallows. He’d been kinda hoping that would be the case.

*

Airplanes are hell. Dean would know; he’s _been_ to hell. Shit, if the sadistic fuckers down there had really wanted to torture him, they could have just stuck him on a never-ending plane ride. He feels like he’s going to lose his lunch when the plane departs. An hour into the trip, Cas’ hand is probably throbbing with how tightly Dean’s holding on to it. Cas doesn’t comment as such, though.

Sam, all the while, is incredibly amused at Dean’s expense.

Turbulence shakes the plane and Dean’s eyes practically bug out of their sockets. Cas rubs reassuring circles over Dean’s hand with his thumb. Dean looks up at him, a picture of misery, and Cas kisses him. Across the aisle, a man clears his throat loudly and pointedly.

Cas turns around and frowns at the man.

“Can we assist you?”

“Hell yeah, you can. I’m trying to eat here.”

Cas looks genuinely confused.

“You may have to take up concerns about the food with a flight attendant.”

“Smartass,” the man grumbles. Cas looks even more confused, and Dean momentarily forgets his phobia in favor of being very, very pissed.

“You have a problem with my boyfriend?” Dean hisses, leaning over Cas so he can make absolutely certain the guy hears him – as well as catches the death glare Dean is sending him.

“They’ll let anyone on planes these days,” the man remarks, scoffing.

“Yeah, I thought they used to have a douchebag alarm but I guess they’ve slipped up on the security or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Excuse me?” the man says, clearly completely taken aback and equally disgusted by Dean’s comments, as though he hadn’t realized the men he taunted could taunt back.

“The only reason my fist hasn’t hit your face yet is because – “

“Dean!” Cas says firmly, putting a hand over Dean’s now balled up fist.

“He insulted you,” Dean says vehemently.

“I am not insulted. The musings of ignorant men do not bother me.”

Dean snorts but his fist unclenches and he looks away from the man, and back into Cas’ eyes.

“If I really want to piss him off, I guess I could just kiss you again.”

“There’s always that.”

“And again, and again…” Dean leans forward for what he intends to be a kiss completely inappropriate for a plane, but Sam taps him (or, rather, smacks him) on the back urgently.

“Um. Little brother. Right here. Sitting right next to you,” Sam says, looking so traumatized that Dean has to laugh.

“Too PG-13 for you, Sammy?”

A sudden bout of turbulence wipes the smile off of Dean’s face instantly. Sam sniggers, looking vindicated.

“We’ll land soon, Dean,” Cas assures him.

“Not soon enough,” Dean says through gritted teeth. And if he leans into Cas a little more than necessary, well, no one has to notice.

*

“Sure you wanna do this?”

Sam, Cas, and Dean are standing at the precipice of Lawrence’s prettiest graveyard, staring in. The cab that brought them there is driving off already, though Dean supposes it’s not too late to call him back. He’s not going to, though. Instead, Dean replies to Sam’s question with a nod, unsure whether he trusts himself to speak or not.

It’s kind of surreal, being in a cemetery where they’re not there to dig up a grave and torch the remains. Dean finds that it’s actually sort of peaceful without fear and adrenaline forcing him to dig deep holes that were never meant to be dug up again. Many of the graves have flowers and there are trees all around in full bloom. Dean thinks idly that spring is a good time of year for Mother’s Day.

Everyone follows Dean to Mary’s gravesite, because he’s the only one who’s ever been to it. Sam had been a baby when they last came; Dean’s surprised he remembers where it is at all. He does, though, and he’s able to lead them all right to it. Her headstone is under a tree, which was substantially smaller when Dean was last here. It’s a pink flowering tree that has blossoms fluttering in the breeze everywhere.

Dean takes a huge breath and lets his eyes trace the words on the tombstone. _Mary Winchester. Loving Mother, Beloved Wife._ And – and, shit, Dean can feel his vision blurring and he stares at the sky, breathing in and out deeply again. Sam has walked over to the headstone and is plucking roots and grass off it that have overtaken it from years of neglect. There’s no remains buried beneath it, of course, though Dean thinks her ashes might have been placed in before the hole was covered. He distinctly remembers his four year old self not getting why they had dug up a whole and closed it up again.

He understands why Sam and Cas wanted to come here, now. He can’t put it into words why, though. It’s just an understanding that’s hit him. It hurts, seeing this, but it’s the good kind of hurt. The healing kind.

“Hey, Mom,” Dean whispers, and to his credit his voice only cracks a tiny bit.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” Sam adds, though he’s looking at the sky and not the grave. Dean gets it; Sam thinks their mom is in heaven, and so does he. Despite everything, Dean has a feeling God – if he’s real – gave her a little amnesty. She did kind of have a lot of forces working to make her make that deal, after all.

And she was a damn good mom, too. Dean remembers that.

Dean rubs his palm against his eyes roughly for a moment. When his hand falls back to his side, Cas takes it in his. Dean is grateful for the familiar pressure in the gesture.

“Well!” Dean says after a moment of silence. He clears his throat because the word didn’t come out quite as light-hearted as intended. He tries again. “Well! Okay, I think we all said that remembering Mom isn’t supposed to be a sobfest. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as hell and I think Mom would definitely approve of Cas’ apple pie, so let’s make this slightly less awkward and unpack the food.

Sam flashes Dean a grateful smile. His eyes are red, and Dean knows Sam’s been crying a bit too. It’s a little different for Sam – Sam’s missing someone in a completely different way. He’s missing a woman he’d have given anything to have in his life. He’s missing a presence that should have been there. They’d met briefly when they were sent back in time, and the look on Sam’s face had been awed. There was love there, instant and pure and running deep. It must have killed Sam to get a brief glimpse of her and know he’d never get it.

Sam’s getting closure now, too, Dean realizes. This is good for all of them.

Cas is pulling out his – get this – red and white checkered picnic blanket, just like the ones in the movies. He gets to work pulling out typical picnic dishes. Pie, salad, sandwiches, chips, potato salad, an All-American picnic and Dean is pretty sure Cas googled this. Dean is pleased, and he kisses Cas on the nose to show it. He’s wondering if it’s a bad sign that he’s not even embarrassed that Sam saw him doing such a ridiculously cheesy thing.

The sandwiches Cas packs are, unsurprisingly, delicious, and Cas makes Dean a potato salad lover against all odds. Sam keeps glancing at Mary’s headstone and then back to Dean with this strange look on his face like he can’t decide whether to grin or cry. Dean decides this look is okay with him and he stops worrying.

When they’re done eating, they all lay down on the blanket and stare at the sky. The day is bright blue with puffy white clouds like cotton balls, slow moving across the sky and making indistinct shapes. One looks like a pair of wings and Dean elbows Cas and points it out. Cas smiles.

“This was weirdly nice,” Sam says after a while of them all laying quietly.

“’Weirdly’? Were you expecting something else?” Dean asks.

“Well…” Sam says sheepishly, “I know I kept trying to reassure you, but I was afraid it was going to be gloomy as hell. But this is… nice.”

“Well, Mom’s awesome,” Dean says offhand, and it hits him how good it feels to be able to talk about Mom so easily, without it feeling like his heart is carrying a load of bricks. This was such a good idea. The longer they stay here, the more grateful he is that he agreed to this, that Sam suggested it all.

Sam chuckles. “Yeah she is.”

Cas gets up and goes over to the picnic basket, rummaging through it. Dean’s about to tell him that if he eats anything else, even pie, he’s going to explode, but Cas pulls something else out. He’s got a little package in his hands, and when he comes closer Dean sees that the package contains seeds.

“I thought of bringing flowers,” Cas says, tearing open the packet, “but I thought it would be better to plant our own. They’ll thrive when we’re gone. We can’t visit often, so Mary will always have flowers…” Cas trails off, like he’s not exactly sure this is a good idea now that he’s saying it out loud. Sam and Dean look equally excited, though, and when Cas notices, the apprehension seems to drain from his body.

“Cas, that’s a great idea!” Sam says at the same time Dean says, “Dude, you’re awesome.”

Cas has three tiny garden spades and he hands one to both Sam and Dean. They each dig their own respective holes and bury the seeds deep into the ground. Cas chose bellflowers because (or , so the Internet has told him), they live very long and bloom very bright. They’re, apparently, a vibrant purple and grow in clusters. Dean’s already wondering when their next trip back will be, because he’s eager to see how the flowers turn out.

Surprisingly enough, the time goes by quickly. Soon the sun is setting and it’s time to catch their plane home. They say awkward goodbyes to the rock with their mother’s name on it before they leave. There’s none of the somberness that was there when they first arrived, though; it’s as if some weight has been lifted from their shoulders.

It’s a good feeling.

*

When they get home, Cas goes to boil water tea in the kitchen right away, out of instinct. Dean’s often mused that Cas is almost as addicted to tea as he is to holidays, sweaters and candles. If he’s not already, he’s certainly getting there. Before he can turn the knob on the stove, though, Dean comes behind him and his hand slides over Cas’, stopping him.

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean purrs in his ear.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Cas breathes, though Dean notices from experience the slight  shift in Cas’ voice.

“Yes I do. You pushed me to go. I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want me to.”

“I am happy I could help. Mary is important to you.”

“So are you,” Dean says, losing track of the conversation as he kisses Cas’ jaw. Cas makes a tiny, noncommittal noise.

“Let’s have a bubblebath, Cas,” Dean says suddenly, spinning Cas around in his arms until he’s facing him. Cas smiles, more with his eyes than his mouth, like he usually does. The thing with Cas is that he _means_ it when he smiles with his eyes. A smile with his mouth is just bonus points.

“I’d like that,” Cas says, and the smile does reach his lips, now.

“Best Mother’s Day ever, Cas,” Dean says offhand as he slides Cas’ tie from his neck. “Never celebrated it before.”

Cas’ eyes trace the movement of Dean’s hands, and Dean’s not even entirely sure he’s listening.

“I’m glad I was here for it,” Cas says once the tie falls to the floor.

“Me too.”

It’s a little trippy that Dean spent Mother’s Day in a graveyard and had a pretty friggin awesome time – but everything with Cas is trippy, Dean’s learned. He likes that. He actually kind of loves it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
